Halloween: A Special in Three Parts
by Flagg1991
Summary: An escaped mental patient named Michael Myers terrorizes the Loud family during a Halloween party.
1. He Comes Home

**Ah, the Halloween season: Pumpkins, scarecrows, all things spooky. A lot of you might not know this, but outside of LH fandom, I'm a horror writer...so I'd be** _ **very**_ **remiss to let the horror-est of all horror seasons pass by without writing a horror story. In this story, Michael Myers, of the Halloween movies, sets his sights on the Louds. Will they survive...or will they die one-by-one? Find out in Halloween: A Special in Three Parts.**

* * *

It was midnight, and Doctor A. Script was beginning to fall asleep behind the wheel. He rolled down the windows, turned the A/C on, and fiddled with the radio until he found a station playing loud music...but every time he stopped moving, he began to drift. _Just fifty more miles_ he told himself as he glanced in the rearview mirror. Behind the mesh screen separating the front from the back, Michael Myers stared blankly out the window, his eyes unblinking and his mouth slightly parted. He wore a hospital gown and a pair of handcuffs.

Myers was an interesting case. On Halloween night, 2001, when he was ten, he killed his sister Judith with a kitchen knife and lapsed into a catatonia so deep that he hadn't moved a muscle in over sixteen years. His previous doctor, Loomis, was convinced that Myers was faking it. "He's biding his time, waiting, watching...one day he'll make his move and you'll be sorry...you'll all be sorry," he said as the board stripped him of his certification and sacked him. Poor bastard had been working with the mentally ill for so long that he became one. Script shook his head. It was sad: Loomis was a good doctor once, one of the best in the country. After taking over the Myers case, however, something changed in him...he became strange, obsessed. He claimed that Myers was pure evil. "I can see it in his eyes," Loomis would say. "He has no soul. Can't you _see_ it?"

That was the kind of backwards thinking that psychiatry had been combating in this country for decades. Mentally ill people were just that – people who were ill. They needed care, not to be written off as evil and stuffed into a padded room for the rest of their lives. Script glanced into the mirror again: Myers' position had not changed, and it would not change until they arrived at the minimum security hospital in Ann Arbor and orderlies led him to his room.

Just fifty miles. Fifty long, dark miles.

Script regretted his decision to leave the interstate: At least on the interstate there were other cars and lights and stimuli. He was loathe to deal with the traffic, though, and currently they were travelling along a dark two lane highway flanked on either side by black forest. Twice a deer had leapt across the road and nearly caused him to crash. Fool. What a fool.

Sighing, he fiddled with the radio again, sending the dial up and down the band, getting staticky stations playing everything from modern pop-country to classical. He settled on one out of Battle Creek playing oldies, and sang along to _Wooly Bully_ , his hand tapping rhythmically on the wheel.

Focused on the road and the music, Script did not see Myers blink and close his mouth...did not see him turning...did not see him pulling his hands apart and breaking the handcuffs.

With the clang of ripping metal, Myers' hand shot through the screen and grabbed Script's face. Script screamed and jerked the wheel; the car crossed the center line, left the road, and jostled down a slight embankment. Myers' wrapped his forearm around Script's neck and squeezed. Script kicked and fought, his body twisting this way and that in a desperate attempt to break free from Myers' grasp. The world started to go gray, then black. As he died, Script's bowels and bladder released, filling his pants with piss and shit.

Satisfied that the doctor was dead, Myers pulled his hand back through the screen, balled his fist, and smashed it into the window, which shattered. He reached out, opened the handle, and got out into the chilly October night. Staring straight ahead, he walked up to the highway, where a pick-up truck was passing. It slowed to a stop and a man in a hat poked his head through the driver side window. "Hey, feller, you okay?"

Myers grabbed the man by the face and pulled him screaming out of the window. He wrapped his hands around his soft throat, and squeezed until his thrashing stopped. Myers got up, but stopped as he eyes fell on the man's black coverall jumpsuit. He unzipped it, pulled it off, then put it on. It was a little snug, but it was better than a hospital gown.

He climbed into the truck and pulled off, heading toward home...Royal Woods.

* * *

"Alright, losers, listen up," Lori said.

It was 6pm on Halloween. Mom and Dad had just left to take the younger kids trick or treating, and Leni, Luna, Luan, Lynn, and Lincoln were sitting on the couch watching _Pumpkinhead_ when Lori came in and unplugged the TV to a chorus of "Heys."

She fixed her siblings with a withering glance. "My party starts in half an hour, and you can all come...but if you mess it up, I will turn you not into a pretzel but a corpse. A literal dead body that Mom and Dad will have to pay to have put in the ground. Got it?"

Lynn waved her hand. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now plug the TV back in. I was watching that."

Sighing, Lori plugged the TV back in and then went into the basement. On the screen, a horrible monster backed someone into a corner and savaged them. "When you have ten sisters," Lincoln said, looking dead at the fourth wall, "Halloween can be pretty crazy. Take Lori's bossy ass. Every year she throws a party and every year she freaks out, but in the end, everything ends up going great. She worries more than _I_ do."

He turned back to the screen and leaned forward as the monster was brought down by the protagonist. The credits rolled, and he sat back.

"That movie was _bomb,"_ Lynn said, jumping up. She spun on Lincoln and threw her arms up, her hands bent and her fingers clawed. "I'm Pumpkinhead," she intoned, "and I'm gonna get you!"

She dug her fingers into Lincoln's stomach, and he laughed, his entire body jerking. "Stop!" he cried and swatted her arms.

She tickled harder.

"Lynn, you're gonna make me piss myself!"

"Oh?" she asked, and tickled even harder.

"Knock it off, Lynn," Luna said and got up, "unless you wanna clean piss off the sofa."

Lynn snickered and yanked her hands away. "It might be worth it just to see Lincy pee himself like a baby." She went over to the foyer and snatched up her football. "When did Lori say her dumb party started?"

"Eh, I wasn't paying attention," Luna said and went into the kitchen, where she grabbed a soda from the fridge.

Lori had been planning this party for almost a month, and yesterday she recruited all of her siblings to help her plaster the basement with Halloween decorations: Streamers, balloons, vinyl stick-on skeletons and bats. Lucy was the only one who enjoyed it. "This place looks like my heart," she said when they were done, her hands on her hips and a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Come on, it'll, like, be fun," Leni said, then half-lidded her eyes, "there will be boys."

Luan perked up, Lynn rolled her eyes, and Luna arched her brows. Lynn didn't give two shits about boys (or girls), Luna was gay (something her family found out when Dad walked in on her and Sam rubbing each other off), and Luan...well, Luan was kind of boy crazy, but Luna suspected that that had more to do with her wanting to feel loved and desired than being a slut or something (she had serious self-esteem and self-image issues...poor girl thought she was ugly because some asshole kids picked on her in elementary school and she had braces).

"Whatever," Lynn said, "I'm going for the snacks."

"I'm staying right here," Lincoln said, " _Night of the Living Dead_ is coming on and I love that movie." No one saw him smile nervously.

* * *

Across town, a man with a bald head and a graying beard walked into the police station. He wore a long brown trench coat and a green plaid scarf. His cheeks were flushed from the unseasonably cold air and his hands trembled. That was from age, however. He was sixty-five and not in the best of health: The doctors thought it was a mild form of Parkinson's.

At the desk, he waited for an officer in a green jacket to come over, his fingers drumming impatiently. It was late afternoon and he came directly from the hospital here, a good two hundred miles of speeding and worrying that he was too late to stop what he knew would happen. "Can I help you?" the cop asked.

"I'd like to speak with the sheriff."

"About?"

"An important matter."

The cop nodded and went away, returning a few minutes later with a short, rotund man about fifty with glasses. "I'm Sheriff Katz," he said.

"Dr. Sam Loomis. I'm here because a former patient of mine, Michael Myers, escaped last night, and I believe he may be heading this way."

Katz's eyes widened. "Myers, you say?"

"Yes," Loomis replied. "I assume you're familiar with the case."

Katz nodded. "I am. I was the one who put that little bastard in cuffs. You said he escaped?"

"Yes," Loomis said. "He murdered two people while doing so."

"Holy hell," Katz said, and put his hands on his ample hips. "What's he want here? His folks moved years ago."

Loomis nodded. "I'm aware. The house, though...is it occupied?"

Katz thought for a moment. "I believe so. Let me check."

A few minutes later, Katz, sitting at a computer, looked up at Loomis, who bent over him. "Yep. 1216 Franklin Avenue is currently owed by Lynn and Rita Loud."

Loomis nodded. When the hospital called him to say that he has escaped (and asked for his help...after the way they fired him), he knew in an instant that Myers would come here, and though Myers didn't know them, the occupants of 1216 Franklin were in danger. "We must go there."

Katz stood. "Hold on now. We don't even know if he's here, and we can just run into someone's home all willy-nilly based on a hunch."

"I'm telling you, Sheriff, he's come back, and he's going to murder whoever's in that house. If you choose to do nothing, that's on you. I, on the other hand, will not allow a massacre."

With that, Loomis spun and left the police station. Pausing on the stairs, he felt for the gun in his pocket, its weight comforting. _No one ever listens to me_ , he thought as he crossed the street. His Intrepid was parked at the curb in front of the town barber shop. _And I always turn out to be right...unfortunately._

He was just opening the door when Katz came out and waved him over. Loomis shut the door and crossed the street again, waiting for a van to pass. "Alright, you win," Katz said, "come on."

Katz led Loomis to a white police cruiser and climbed in behind the wheel while Loomis slid into the passenger seat. "You've made the right choice, Sheriff," Loomis said.

"I hope you're wrong about this, Dr. Loomis," Katz said as he started the engine.

"So do I," Loomis replied.

On Franklin Avenue, a pick-up truck pulled to the curb in front of a two story house, its front lawn littered with toys. A man in a white mask sat behind the wheel, his hands perfectly at 10 and 2. He turned and regarded the house with cold hatred as a group of teenagers walked up to the porch and knocked. A girl with short blonde hair answered, and the man's grip tightened on the wheel. He hated a lot of things in the world, but the thing he hated most of all was teenage girls.

Grabbing the butcher knife from the passenger seat, he got out of the car and crossed the street.


	2. The Killings Begin

**JJChandler: The original. I'd never trash someone else for what they like, but personally, I** _ **hated**_ **the remake. I think Rob Zombie's heart was in the right place, but he flubbed it at every turn. As far as I'm concerned it's a terrible movie and has absolutely no reason for existing.**

* * *

 **Lyrics to** _ **The Bump**_ **by Zig Zag (1974)**

* * *

Lincoln Loud sat rapt before the TV, his eyes wide and his hands on his knees. "The one good thing about Lori's party is that while everyone's there, _I_ get to control the TV." On the screen, a naked woman was dancing, her breasts bouncing hypnotically up and down. "Oh, man," Lincoln hitched, "look at that rack! I hope Ronnie Anne develops as nicely as _that_ girl."

A knock came at the door, and he jerked, dropping the remote. "Must be another one of Lori's friends," he said, changing the channel to a cartoon. He got up as the knock came again. "Alright already."

He turned the knob, and craned his neck up: A very tall man in a white mask stood on the doorstep, a knife in his hand. "Hey," Lincoln said, "cool costume. Who are you supposed to –?"

His words cut off in a sharp cry when the man grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him off his feet. Lincoln's heart raced and he shook with fear. "P-P-Please d-don't h-h-hurt me..."

The man raised the knife, and Lincoln's eyes widened. It flashed down and sank into his chest: He gasped at the pain. The man pulled the knife out, then dropped it again. Lincoln let out a breathless cry, tears streaming down his cheeks. His feet kicked impotently. His vision was starting to blur and coldness filled him.

When Lincoln's eyes closed in death, Myers threw him aside: He crashed into the wall and fell to the floor, blood gushing from his chest.

In the basement, Luna sat on the washing machine with her ax, strumming it and watching Lori's little party. Man, it stank. She was expecting good music and costumes and junk, but it was just a bunch of awkward dorks eating chips and salsa.

You know what this party needs? Some blow. Luckily, she had some killer yeyo upstairs. She sat her guitar aside and crossed the basement. Luan was by the bottom of the stairs, Mr. Coconuts in her hands. She threw her voice and made a dirty joke about having wood, and some geek with red hair laughed like she was the funniest thing ever. By the looks of him, dude was probably a pervert and thought if he laughed hard enough Luan would put out. Who knows, maybe she would.

"Where are _you_ going, Luna?" Mr. Coconuts asked.

"To get this party started," Luna said.

"Cocaine does not a party start," Mr. Coconuts said.

Luna's heart clutched. How the hell did Luan know about her coke? "I-I'm not into that junk, dude, sorry."

"Yes, you –"

Luna panicked and slapped Mr. Coconuts out of Luan's hand. "Hey," Luan said indignantly.

Red-hair-guy laughed his 300 pound ass off.

"Your doll was talking shit," Luna said, and ducked up the stairs. "Keep him in line."

Luan flipped her sister off.

Upstairs, Luna went through the living room and stopped at the bottom of the stairs when she noticed a big red stain on the carpet. Great, Lincoln spilled fruit punch or something on the floor and didn't even clean it up. Oh well, Lori was in charge, not her. In her room, she rummaged in her dresser until she found a baggie filled with white powder. Alright! Time to _blow_ my mind. Get it, Luan?

Luna took the coke over to her bed and sat. She reached into her nightstand and took out her Bible, which she opened. The inside was hollowed out, hiding a mirror, a plastic straw, and a razor blade. She grinned as she cut three thin lines across the coke crusted surface and sang to herself: _Keep on bumpin...bumpin...keep on bumpin...do the bump._ Get it? Because bumps of coke? Ah, never mind. She'd leave the cheesy jokes to Luan.

When her lines were ready, she inserted the straw into the nose, leaned over, and, pressing her finger against her free nostril, snorted. Ahhhh, man, I can feel it already. Like Popeye with spinach. She sucked up the second line, then the third. Now, Lori's party wouldn't suck as hard.

She put the mirror, the razor, and the straw back into the Bible, closed it, and returned it to the drawer. She turned, and a masked man was there, his hands shooting out and wrapping around Luna's neck before she could react.

The man pushed her back against the bed and caged her legs between his knees, his grip tightening. Luna kicked and scratched at his hands, but that seemed to only excite him, as his breathing became heavier, more ragged. She started to feel loopy as her oxygen starved brain began to shut down. _No! I don't want to die!_

But as her favorite singer once said, you can't always get what you want, and that's the last thing that went through Luna's mind before she joined her little brother in death.

For a long time, Myers straddled Luna's cooling body, his hands wrapped around her soft throat, her broken larynx jabbing his palm. His heart was racing and his knees were shaky; a feeling of warm euphoria coursed through him, and he squeezed tighter, digging his nails into her flesh. That feeling started to drain away, however, and he released her, his head tilting as he studied her ruined throat.

Then he got up.

* * *

In the basement, Lori was sipping punch and talking to Becky. Leni was talking to that bitch Carol Pingrey (who invited her anyway?), and Lori had half a mind to snatch the little traitor up by her blonde hair and make her leave. Speaking of making someone leave, where was Luan? Lori looked around, and saw her sitting next to that fat kid. Patrick something. She laughed at something he said and touched his leg. Ew, Luan, you're not exactly pretty, but you can do better than _that_.

"This party is totally awesome," Becky said, "but I know what will make it better."

"What?" Lori asked.

Becky reached into her backpack and pulled out a six pack of wine coolers. Lori saw them and her eyes widened. Becky laughed. "We're gonna get white girl wasted!"

"I don't know," Lori worried, "my parents would literally kill me."

"Oh, it's just fruit punch with a splash of wine," Becky said. She took one and twisted the cap off. "Here."

Lori sighed and took it. "You only live once, I guess."

"That's more like it!"

While Lori and Becky tipped their bottles back and Luan sucked face with some kid with red hair, Leni excused herself to use the little girl's room. She, like, had to pee really bad.

Upstairs, she went to the bathroom, closed the door, and pulled her panties to her knees. She sat and peed, thinking of Carol Pingrey as she did so. Lori would kill her if she found out that she and Carol were, like, together, but Carol was really nice (and _really_ good in bed). Why she and Lori didn't get along, Leni didn't know, but it made her heart sad, because she wanted Lori to be at hers and Carol's wedding one day.

When she was done, she flushed, wiped, and went into the hall just as a big, scary man in a mask came out of Luna and Luan's room. Leni froze, her heart leaping into her throat. The man stopped and slowly turned. Uh-oh.

He started forward, and Leni jumped back into the bathroom with a scream, slamming the door and turning the thumb lock. She backed away from the door as he slammed into it: She screamed again and fell back onto the toilet. He slammed again, and a crack appeared in the wood. Leni moaned and wept in terror.

Suddenly, the assault stopped. Leni sat where she was, her heart pounding and her breathing shallow. W-Was scary mask man gone? She started to get up, but a fist smashed through the door and reached in, taking hold of the knob. Leni wailed and sank onto the toilet. The door opened, and he came in, a bloody knife in his hand. She threw her arms up just as the blade came down. It sliced one of her forearms, and she cried out, flailing her arms and legs. He grabbed her by the back of the neck, raised the knife, and brought it down as Leni started to scream again: The blade sank into her mouth and came out the back of her neck, sinking partially into Myers' palm. He didn't notice, however. The girl's eyes were wide and fish-like; the handle jutted from her mouth, blood trickling down her chin. She lifted shaking hands to it, then her eyes glazed over and she toppled off the toilet.

Myers knelt, pulled her head up by her long blonde hair, and yanked the knife out: It scraped against her teeth with a grating sound.

Knife in hand, he started to leave the bathroom, but drew back when two kids stumbled up the stairs, their lips pressed together and their hands all over each other. Myers tilted his head as they went into the room he had just left. If they drew back the covers on the drug girl's bed, they would find her body.

His grip tightened on the knife. If there was one thing he hated more than teenage girls, it was sex, and they were going to have sex: He could _smell_ it.

Breathing heavy, he started down the hall.


	3. Slaughterhouse

**Here it is, the thrilling conclusion to** _ **Halloween: A Special in Three Parts.**_ **How many more of your favorite characters will die? Find out now!**

* * *

In the car, Katz lifted the dash mounted CB to his lips and spoke. Loomis looked out the passenger window, unaware that he was nervously chewing his fingernails. Before him was the town square: A patch of green before the county courthouse where, in 2002, Michael Myers was found insane by a judge and remanded to Smith's Grove Sanitarium. The square was empty now, save for a homeless man sitting on a bench, but in Loomis's memories, it was packed with reporters, all of whom rushed forward when Myers was marched out the door in handcuffs, shoved into the back of a police cruiser, and driven away, presumably never to be seen again.

"It _could_ be a coincidence," Katz said now, placing the CB back in its rack.

"Do you honestly believe that, Sheriff?" Loomis asked without looking away from the courthouse.

Moments after they left the police station, a call came in from the owner of the town hardware store: Someone had broken in, stolen some knives, rope, and a few Halloween masks. Immediately after _that_ , the caretaker at Heaven's Gate Cemetery reported a headstone stolen: It belonged to Judith Myers.

Katz sighed. "I don't know, but I'm hoping."

"Well, that won't do you any good. I'm telling you, Sheriff, he's here and he's not going to stop until he's dead."

"You make him sound like a killing machine."

"He is," Loomis said. "I was his doctor for fifteen years. I know him like no one else. He is evil, Sheriff, pure, unadulterated evil. I spent nine years trying to reach him and six trying to keep him locked up. In those nine years I hoped, like you, even though deep in my heart I _knew_. You can see it in his eyes, he...he doesn't have a soul." Loomis turned to Katz, who was chewing his bottom lip nervously. "He's as close to a monster as I hope to ever come. I don't know _why_ he is, only that he _is_. I knew that transferring him to a minimum security facility was wrong and I fought it, I fought it tooth and nail, and they fired me. They said I was irrational and superstitious. Maybe I am, but Michael Myers is something...something not entirely human."

Katz shook his head. "Why come back here? Why not somewhere else?"

Loomis shook his head. "Revenge, perhaps, for the way he was treated. He was made fun of in school, bullied, taunted. He was an odd child, quiet, intense, what you might call weird. His sister, Judith, was the opposite. She was popular, outgoing, well-adjusted, even, I suspect, their parents' favorite. He grew to resent her, then to hate her. He hated the bullies, he hated his sister, he hated his parents. One Halloween...he killed her: Dressed as a clown, he crept into her room and stabbed her forty-five times in the back and chest."

Katz shivered. "I remember. I was a patrolman then. I'd never seen so much blood. It was everywhere and almost made me quit."

"You must remember the Dietz boy then."

For a moment Katz searched his brain. "Yes," he said, "I do." Charlie Dietz, thirteen, was found dead in the town park on October 20, 2001, his head beaten in with a rock. "You think Myers did it?"

"The boy did taunt him particularly hard," Loomis said. "I think he did."

Katz sighed. This was _not_ going to be a good day.

* * *

In her room, Luan pushed the door closed and threw her arms around...dude's neck. She didn't know his name and it didn't matter; a boy _finally_ liked her...liked her despite her goofy jokes, beaver teeth, and too-big eyes. His name could be Dracula for all she cared.

They kissed, their tongues flopping desperately against one another. She pulled away and grinned seductively as she laid back on her bed. Dude's eyes went wide and he climbed on top of her, his hands going to her breasts and fondling them through her shirt, his lips touching her neck and making her shiver. Her heart gently pounded; she was starting to feel feverish and her core was beginning to pool with moisture. He slid his hand up the inside of her thigh, and she opened her legs to give him better access. They kissed again and he pulled her panties down her legs, past her knees and over her ankles, the soft touch of the fabric making her tremble.

He straddled her and unzipped his pants, his penis popping out. "Ummm, hi there," she purred.

It twitched, and she laughed. "I think it likes you," he said.

"Good," she said, "because I like it."

He aligned their sexes and pushed, his head parting her and sinking deep inside. She gasped and closed her eyes. It stung, but it felt _amazing_ at the same time. She wrapped her legs around his waist and they rocked together, each thrust pushing her closer and closer to the edge. The way he grunted, the way he quivered against her walls, the way he whispered her name – knowing that _she_ was the reason he was hard and that he wanted _her_ pushed her the rest of the way: Her muscles clamped around him and her legs tightened as her orgasm broke over her. He thrusted one more time, then expanded, his hot, creamy cum filling her and making her eyes roll back in her head.

"That was _amazing,"_ she panted.

"Yeah, it was – " his words turned into a cry as a man in a mask grabbed him by his hair, yanked his head back, and slit his throat: His eyes widened and hot blood spurted out, splattering Luan's face. She screamed and tried to pull away, but she was pinned in place.

Clutching at his throat, he fell over, and the man was on top of her in a flash, the knife raised above his head. She howled as it came down and sank into her chest, chipping a rib and puncturing her lungs. She cried out, and the man pressed one large, calloused hand to her face, pushing her back into the pillow. The fight ran out of her as blood filled her lungs and she began to aspirate, coughing and desperately attempting to breathe. When she felt death stealing over her, she gave into it, and went gently into that good night.

* * *

Lori was halfway through her second wine cooler and feeling loose. She tipped the bottle back, took a long drink, and sat it on the table. An Usher song was playing on the radio, and Becky put her arms around Lori's shoulders and drew her into a slutty dance. Lynn, standing by the dryer and telling Carol Pingrey all about pro wrestling, rolled her eyes. Carol turned, saw, and shook her head. "What tramps."

"Right?" Lynn asked. "Lori's never been able to handle her liquor." Lynn snickered. "Does that even _count_ as liquor?"

"It's basically juice," Carol said. She crossed her arms and watched Lori and Becky dancing and laughing. "I could _totally_ dance better than Lori."

Lynn nodded toward the two drunk girls. "Do it, then."

"Maybe I will."

"Good."

With a humph, Carol went over, pushed Lori aside, and started to dance with Becky. Lori put her hands on her hips and glared at the interloper. Hehhehheh. Lynn glanced around and realized that aside from her and the 3 Stooges, the place was empty. Hm. Where was everyone? Well...she knew where Luan was: Losing her virginity to some fat guy with bushy red hair. Linc was probably watching porn or something. Oh, and Luna was bumping rails of the coke she thought no one knew about, but did. Eh. She'd go see if Lincoln wanted to play some ball.

She started toward the stairs, but stopped when a big guy in a white mask and a black jumpsuit appeared on the landing. Lynn craned her neck and looked up at him, her hands going to her hips. "Nice costume, bub, who you supposed to be, a mime mechanic?" She snickered, then something even better occurred to her. "A _mime_ chanic!" She slapped her knee. Luan would appreciate that one.

The man tilted his head to one side and regarded her quizzically. "So what's it like fixing the clown car? They're little so it's easy, right? You can just pick it up and tuck it under your arm."

Light flashed on the edge of a knife as he lifted it up. "Heh, that thing looks real," Lynn said, "didja...?"

The knife came down...the blade drove through the middle of Lynn's forehead and into her brain. Lori, Becky, and Carol all screamed, Lori's hands flying to her mouth and Carol stumbling back and colliding with the wall. He yanked the knife out of Lynn's head, bringing a rush of blood and brain matter with it, and Lynn dropped to the floor, her leg twitching. He slowly turned his head and Lori panicked. She picked up one of the empty bottles and threw it at him: It hit him in the face, breaking and making him stumble.

Seizing the opportunity, Lori ran toward the hatch. Carol broke from the wall and followed. Becky started after them, but the man grabbed her by her hair and drove the knife so far into her back that the tip came out her chest: Blood burst from Becky's mouth, and she let out a strangled scream.

Crying, Lori stumbled up the stairs to the hatch and pushed, but it wouldn't budge. "Hurry!" Carol wailed. "He's coming!"

Lori pushed, but it still wouldn't budge. Damn it, come on! Come on! _COME ON!_

Behind her, Carol yelped, and Lori turned to see the man dragging her back. She kicked and beat her fists against his broad back. Lori wanted to move, to run, but she was frozen in fear.

"Stop!" Carol cried, her voice hitching, "please stop!"

He threw her on the ground, knelt, and raised the knife. When it came down and Carol gasped, Lori came alive. She stumbled down the steps and started for the basement stairs. The man jumped up and came after her.

She was almost to the bottom step when an old bald man in a trench coat stepped onto the landing, a gun in his hand. She faltered, and when he raised it, she fell back.

"Move!" he yelled.

She did, and the sound of gunfire filled the basement. Covering her ears and weeping, she watched as the man danced back, his body jerking as round after round slammed into him. The knife fell from his hand, and he tripped over his feet, going down with a loud thud.

Hysterics overcame Lori, and she shook as she wept. The man came into the basement, tucking the gun into his pocket. Behind him was the sheriff. "Place is a goddamn slaughterhouse," he muttered as he looked around. When he kicked open the front door after hearing the screams (probable cause), he was greeted by a grizzly sight: A boy with white hair hanging upside down in the doorway. A girl with short brown hair was lying on the couch with a headstone rising over her: JUDITH MYERS, it said. Now two more vics by the looks of it, and God knows there might be more.

"Is he dead?" Katz asked. Loomis was kneeling next to Michael Myers and feeling for a pulse.

"Yes," Loomis said and stood, glancing at the girl. She was sitting in a corner and rocking back and forth, her face white and her eyes wide, shell-shocked. He went over to her and helped her to her feet. "Come on," he said softly, "we're going to go upstairs now."

She showed no signs that she understood, so he led her, sitting her in a kitchen chair and waiting while Katz checked the rest of the house. When he returned, he was visibly shaken. "Three more upstairs," he said, and glanced at the girl. She was in another world. "Two girls and a boy. All dead."

Loomis sighed. "Jesus."

While Katz waited for the paramedics with the girl, Loomis went back into the basement, to shoot Michael again or simply to stare at him and wonder how such evil can exist he didn't know, but when he reached the bottom of the stairs, he froze.

Michael Myers was gone.


End file.
